Wild Wild West 1. Part One

The Night of the Holy Oak

Part One

Okay, so there wasn't something in the water. But there might as well have been, everyone in this town was acting so queerly around him and his partner James West. It was as if they were told 'act natural' and then proceeded to go about their everyday business in an awkward sort of performance.

"Do you get the same feeling I do walking down Main Street Jim?" Artie had asked his friend while they lounged in the common room of the inn they had rented rooms in.

Jim looked up from his newspaper and nodded his head slowly. "I do." He said quietly, perhaps afraid someone was listening. "These people are hiding something from us; putting up a front of some sort."

Artie completely agreed. He was always being surprised with how he and his partner always seemed to be on the same level. "That's what I thought." He replied. He dragged his wooden chair closer to Jim, taking a look around to see if anyone was in hearing distance. Finding that the only person in the room, an old frontiersman with a scruffy beard, was sleeping noisily in the corner he proceeded. "Who could have possibly told them that two government agents were coming? How did they recognize us?" He wondered.

Jim put down his paper and took off his hat, setting it down on the table in front of them. "Don't know." He said with a frown. It had been obvious from the start that the townspeople had known that Jim and himself were coming into the town to investigate all the mysterious disappearances that had been happening in the area for months, not to mention to inspect the gold vein that had been discovered within the town limits. Washington was very interested in any new source of the precious metal. People stuttered and darted their eyes around nervously when asked a question by one of them. Women pulled their children who had been playing in the streets away from them. Shop keepers watched them like hawks when they had entered their stores to restock their supplies. Something was definitely wrong with this town.

"An informant? An insider from the government?" Artie suggested. He leaned in close to Jim.

"Personally I believe this whole disappearance issue might have something to do with that gold vein." He whispered, not wanting to wake up the old man. It was a known fact that the word 'gold' had the ability to wake anyone out of their sleep.

"I might take a little trip to see this certain land tomorrow." Jim said with a grin. "Who knows, I might strike it rich and then retire to Mexico." He stood up and stretched obnoxiously, taking up his hat again and placing it on his head. "And I'll buy you a nice new suit. I know how you hate getting yours dirty."

Artemus Gordon leaned back in his chair and stared at Jim. "You think you're so witty, don't you?"

Jim tapped the side of his nose. "I don't think so; I know so Artie." He said with a wide smile. "Come on, let's go have ourselves a shot of whiskey and maybe extract some information out of a drunk."

Artie stood up. "Oooh, I can hardly wait." He followed Jim out of the common room, noticing the bottle of something brown slip from the fingers of the old man with the beard. "Jim my boy, we need a hobby that doesn't involve turning a person into a lush."

"And as soon as I think of something you'll be the first to know." His friend muttered, staring at the empty lot down Main Street. They stared to walk towards the tavern underneath the various balconies of general shops and homes; feet making hollow empty steps on the rough wooden boardwalks. "How old do you think this town is?" Jim asked.

"It's pretty old Jim. Well, as old as it can possibly be while still remaining a frontier town" Artemus told him. "People are pretty well settled in, there's a sheriff in town, a nice little white church, even a school's built."

"So with the news of a gold rush, more people will be flocking into this town, right?" Jim said, probably thinking of the old man in the common room.

"I would think so." Artie said. "Unfavorable people probably. Gold diggers; pan handlers; prospectors; whichever term you prefer. I honestly don't think these townspeople are treasuring that thought. With prospectors usually come immigrants; and knowing the majority of the people in this town are white they're probably scared to death at the thought of a Chinese shop opening up down the road."

"And not to mention very inauspicious businesses as well." Jim added, eyes landing on the empty lot. It wasn't exactly empty; there was the air of construction about it and a large white banner suspended from two poles in the front.

Artie stared at the sign. "Future home of the Shooting Star Saloon." He read out loud. There was small print underneath, something Artie couldn't exactly make out in the dark. He began to walk towards it in order to make out the lettering below, hearing Jim's footsteps behind him. "Gambling, brothel, purveyor of fine spirits." He finished. Artemus turned to him and pointed his thumb to the sign and the empty lot. "That's not the most wholesome establishment to put in a town like this. Think they're a little angry?"

Jim grinned. "Artie, I think we've just uncovered a nice little lead to go by."

Artemus placed his hand to his chin and continued to focus on the plot. "Perhaps tomorrow I'll have a talk with the sheriff." He said, figuring that an interview with the local law enforcement would be a favorable way to kick off their little investigation while Jim snooped around at the gold vein.

"Good plan." Jim agreed as they began to walk towards the bar once again. "Are you going to go as the US Marshall with an attitude or something less dramatic?"

Artie chuckled, finding it amusing that it was his partner who was suggesting that he wore one of his many disguises. "I thought you liked my Marshall persona."

"It gets tired after a while. Time to go with something new."

"Oh, I'll think of something Jim, don't you worry about that. Now about that land that you're going to take a look at tomorrow- I think I read somewhere that it's owned by a local farmer on the outskirts. I'd try to ask him a few questions before doing anything."

"And as always your opinion on the matter is appreciated and taken into consideration." Jim said, acting slightly distanced from their conversation as he opened up the doors to the busy saloon.

"Mmhmm." Artie muttered disapprovingly. As much as he would have liked for his partner not to go about something with an illegal sort of undertone, he knew Jim would be Jim and do things his own way. "Just don't go and get yourself shot when he catches you for trespassing on his land. I fear he might have something to do with the disappearances."

The atmosphere of the tavern was generally much different than that of the town. Inside were men from all type of backgrounds; a definite change from the clean and moral front the town seemed to be catering to. No one seemed to look up when they entered, and no one seemed to take interest in them nor care who they were. Indeed, it was doubtful that these people even knew who Jim and Artie were in the first place.

They took a seat in the corner by a particularly noisy game of poker, the wobbly table making it difficult for the duo to lean into the furniture in order to discuss things further without being completely distracted. Jim decided that he had enough of the shaky table and went on his way, seeing a pretty face with green eyes staring at him from across the room. She had been sitting on top of the piano singing a couple of bars and entertaining the men folk that happened to wander in, Jim immediately charming her with one of his dashing smiles. Now it was Artie's turn to strike up a conversation.

Hopelessly frustrated with the unbalanced piece of furniture, he decided to use that to his advantage. "Excuse me." He said with a noticeable change of tone in his voice, tapping a man sitting alone behind him on the shoulder.

"What?" The rasping man with stubble shadowing his face grumbled, annoyed at the dark haired man for bothering him.

"Got a matchbook?" Artie asked him, seeing a small smile tug at the corner of the man's lips.

"Got that rickety table, eh?" He wondered, patting his vest down for the object in question. He retrieved the matchbook and watched as Arte slipped it underneath the uneven leg that had been causing the problem. "Would've never thought o' that. You're a smart one." The man said, twisting his chair around and pulling up to Artie's table, beer in hand.

The man raised a hand and was brought two more beers from a man working behind the counter.

He gave Artie a mug and toasted him silently, drinking down the brew almost to the bottom in one long gulp. "You must be new 'round here." The man said after loudly setting down his glass mug.

"Yes sir. Name's Steven McKay." Arte said, thrusting out his hand for the man to shake. The man eyed Artie's hand and finally took it and shook it with fervor.

"I'm Walter Buckler, nice t' meet ya." He replied. He suddenly made himself more comfortable and settled into his chair, looking at Artie with interest. "What brings yourself to a town like Holy Oak? Not one of them prospectors are ya?"

"Gonna see if I can open up a business here. Figured with the gold strike and all, Holy Oak would be as good a place as any to settle down." Artie lied, but Buckler seemed to buy it.

"Anything to do with that there Shootin' Star Saloon?" Buckler asked.

Artie shook his head. "Naw. But I'm thinkin' of opening up my own place." He told him and then suddenly leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Hey, know anything about the owners of that saloon by chance?"

The man raised his eyebrows and mirrored Artie's motion of leaning forward. "Not much. Well, might not be true. You hear people talk." He said, eyes glancing around the tavern. Arte stared at him intently, waiting for Buckler to continue. "Rich people, from New York. There's a big hullabaloo over the whole thing. Seems the town council don't like the thought of a saloon, and the saloon don't much like the thought of being driven out. And what with the big gold strike and all; it's a real mess."

"How's that?" Artie insisted, glad to have found such a good source and on the first try too.

"Well, there's three big families that run everything in Holy Oak. If you're gonna open up a business here, you gotta know that. The Shaws, the Tenny's, and the Timony's. They paid for that nice church we got, construction of the roads, the school, and the town hall." Buckler suddenly jumped up in his chair excitedly. "And they're the ones who got that sheriff into office!" He leaned closer again and in a dead whisper said, "They pull the strings of this town."

"And let me guess, they don't like this gold strike too much." He said, taking a large swallow from his own mug.

"Exactly. You are a smart one." He said with a grin. "Anyway, seems the Shaws are threatening to move back east if that saloon opens up. If one of them families go, the whole town goes belly-up. That saloon will ruin this town, everyone's is sayin'."

Artie decided to take his chances and move the conversation in a different direction, hoping that Buckler was either too dumb or too drunk to realize. "Has anyone tried to get rid of the owners of that saloon personally?"

Buckler looked perplexed. "Personally?" He wondered. His face then lit up like someone was holding a candle behind his eyes. "Oh! You mean with all them disappearances!" He remarked,

Artie nodding his head. "Naw, ain't the saloon owners that went missing. At least I think so. See, we don't really know the people who gone missing. Mostly womenfolk and a few men that's gone disappearing."

"These womenfolk, think they're whores working for the saloon?"

Buckler shrugged. "Could be. Weren't our townsfolk who called them in missing to the government. Might have been those big-time New Yorkers." He suggested.

Artie tipped his hat to Walter Buckler and threw a few coins on to the table before standing up.

He had gotten enough information for the time being, time to call it a night. "Nice talking with ya Walter." He said, still completely in character.

"Well shoo," Walter said, tipping his hat in reply, "Ditto, Steve. Hope your business hazards go well and may I be seeing more of ya."

Artie began to head out when Buckler suddenly shot out of his seat and grabbed his arm. "You might want to be watchin' out for yourself. Two government types are in town; we've been warned by the council to keep mum around them ." He said warily. "Jus' glad I haven't seen 'em yet, I'll give 'em what for fer messin' around in business that don't pertain to them." He muttered.

"Oh, well thanks very much Walter." Artie said at he grinned at the moron who he had mislead.

"You're welcome. We simple folk got to be watching out for each other." Buckler said, nodded again, and then went to go sit down and finish his drink.

Artie made his way back to his room and sat on the edge of his bed, staring at himself in the full length mirror that stood by the badly wallpapered wall. Neatly dressed and shaven, proper clothing, silver trimmings; Walter Buckler must have been too drunk to notice that Artemus Gordon was most definitely not Steven McKay. He leaned back on his bed and smiled. He hadn't even been trying.

End of Part One


	2. Part Two

Part Two

There was something so pretentious about the way he entered a room. The way he swung his arms beside him and tipped his hat to a lady, all the while flashing a grin that could make that very same girl flush bright red in her cheeks. Artie could easily mimic Jim's slow walk and easy going meander, he was blessed with the gift of observation. He would never have admitted this to his partner, Artemus liked surprises and preferred to keep some of his talent to himself. You just never knew when it would come in handy.

Jim strolled into the inn around four or so in the morning, the creaking of the floor in the room beside his alerted Artie to the arrival of his sociable friend. The dark haired man groaned and rolled over in his bed, shifting himself slightly so that his back was positioned on top of a pillow. For some reason his lower back had begun to ache that night, maybe around midnight or so. Artie hadn't been sure, but the pain had been going on for hours now. After a few minutes the creaking of the floorboards next door stopped, Jim having finally gone off to bed after his romp through the town.

Artemus sat up and crouched into his knees, sighing as he rubbed the aching spot on his back. He reached for the bottle of whiskey he had been sipping the length of the night ever since the pain began, hoping to dull his senses enough in order to get a few hours sleep. A couple more gulps trickled down his throat, warming the pit of his stomach before finally numbing the pain in his back. He lowered himself gently down into the bed, hissing as he repositioned the pillow beneath him into a more comfortable position. Perhaps age was finally catching up with him?

Around eight or so Jim stumbled into Artie's room with a half-hearted knock and that ever-present grin on his face. His shirt was rumpled and smelled strongly of perfume, a purple feather from some sort of showgirl costume lingering on the seat of his pants. "Good morning." He said with a yawn, watching as Artie picked out his character for the day.

"Morning Jim." Artemus replied, standing with his hand placed on his chin as he mused over which tie to wear. "Have a good time did we?"

Jim shrugged. "Same ol' same ol'." He murmured, sitting himself on Artie's bed. "Found out what connects all those missing people together."

"So did I. Had a nice little chat with a drunk who would have believed anything I told him." Artie informed him, snatching up a red tie and heading towards the full length mirror. He flipped up his collar and tied the red cloth around his neck, quickly and neatly returning the collar down in one smooth flick of his hands. He looked at Jim from the reflection in the mirror, turning just in time in order to catch the vest that had been tossed to him. "Thank you." He said, slinging the vest over his arms and fastening the buttons as Jim studied the empty bottle of whiskey and book that sat on Artie's bedside table.

"You had a wild night there yourself Arte." He said, holding up the bottle in front of him.

"I find that the writing style of Homer can be enhanced by the occasional bottle of booze." Artie informed him, slipping on an expensively tailored jacket. He studied his reflection, scrutinizing every aspect of his person in order to better fit the role he was about to play.

"I don't doubt it." Jim agreed, putting down the bottle. "I'm going to be seeing Lina again today."

"Oh, was that her name?" Artie asked, hardly interested in the response. At this point he was just trying to make conversation while concentrating on whether to go with or without facial hair.

"Yeah, and as it so happens the farmer who struck the gold vein is her first cousin. She's told me a lot of interesting facts, one being that it wasn't the townspeople who reported the missing persons." Jim said, beginning to pace around the room like he always did when he was deep in thought. Artie already knew this but decided to let his friend continue on with reporting his own findings. "The townspeople could care less, it was the Shooting Star Saloon owners who looked to the government for some answers. Eleven woman and three men have gone missing, all of them having something to do with the saloon."

Artie was satisfied with his appearance and slowly made his way for the edge of his bed, his back still sore from the previous night. "I'm guessing this is some type of mass conspiracy and cover up involving the entire town." He assumed with the type of causality one could only achieve after being a government agent for as long as he had. "Did you hear about the three families-"

Jim cut him off with a nod. "The three families that practically own this town? Yeah, I've been told. The Shaws, the Tenny's, and the Timony's."

"They must have something to do with the disappearances. They're probably the reason that fourteen people are missing and everyone's too afraid to talk about it." Artie suggested.

"Agreed, as horrifying as the whole notion sounds. Today we need to figure out two things; one is find out where the people are being held, or heaven forbid, where the bodies are hidden."

"And two?" Arte urged. He tried to hid a grimace as Jim sat down next to him, causing the bed to shake and Artemus' back to throb in pain once again.

"Two is try to talk to this farmer who struck the gold. There had to be more than what we're just assuming here." Jim finished.

"Well I'm off to talk to the sheriff this morning. I guess since you know a cousin of the farmer you can have that job. We'll meet back here later and compare notes." Artie told Jim with his usual whimsy, grasping the metal frame of the bed nonchalantly as he lifted himself to his feet.

He straightened himself out and walked to the door, taking hold of the handle. "Oh, and Jim?" He asked as he opened the wooden portal.

"Mmhmm?" Jim inquired, slightly eyeing him with a smug look.

"You might want to change your shirt before heading out. You've got lipstick all over you." With a grin, Artie left.

It was another beautiful day in the town of Holy Oak. The sun shone down on Arte's shoulders as he snuck out of the hotel through the kitchens, making his way to the sheriff's little outpost on what use to be the extremity of the town. Always a fan of dramatic flare, he pulled out a cigarette case and lit up just before entering with what he liked to call his "governor" walk. The curtain began to open and the audience was caught off guard. The sheriff looked up at him from his desk littered with papers, and asked him what he wanted.

He was a meek and frail looking man with a mustache almost hastily grown on his upper lip in an attempt to make himself look tough; someone who would as soon as quake in his boots when faced with a problem than go out and solve the state of affairs. Artie hung up his hat on top of the coat rack and took a seat opposite the man, puffing out the smoke from the cigarette and staring the man down before giving him an answer.

"I just bought a piece of land in this town." Artie said, in a voice that was clearly false to anyone who didn't know him. "Want to know a few things first before I move myself and my establishment here." It was more of a demand than a request and he could see the sheriff buckling already.

The sheriff fiddled through some parchment on his desk in search of the documentation of the purchase. He lifted up a paper but Artie placed a hand on top and lowered it back down. "Have the document with me son." He murmured, taking out a forged piece of paper from his coat, flashing it to the sheriff quickly, and then returning it back to the coat. The sheriff seemed satisfied enough.

"Well what can I do for you Mr.-"

"Mr. Gervais." Artie smiled, grasping the sheriff's hand and firmly shaking it, staring the man in the eyes the entire time. The characters were all in place.

"What can I do for you Mr. Gervais?" The sheriff continued, folding his hands and sitting up straight like he was trying to make a good impression this late in the meeting.

"I'm opening up a supply shop here." Artie told him, starting to tell the big lie that was part of his act. "Came all the way from Boston, surveyed the land myself, bought the materials for my shop, starting to move my family here, and now I find out about all these murders." He has his audiences' attention now.

"Woah, hang on a second there friend. There haven't been any murders here in Holy Oak." The sheriff corrected him.

"Oh, so all those people who've gone missing aren't dead then?" Artie quickly retorted, putting out his cigarette on the cluttered ashtray that sat on the even messier desk. "Either way I'd like to know a bit more before settling my wife and children in a town where eighteen people have disappeared."

"It's fourteen people, not eighteen." The sheriff said under his breath. He wouldn't quite meet Artie's glare now.

"Fourteen's still just as bad as eighteen, isn't it? And it's not like any of you here are showing concern. I had to find out about this from a newspaper back in the east." Artie huffed, leaning back in the wooden chair. His back gave a quick jolt of pain, momentarily throwing off Artemus' performance as he gripped the handle of his chair.

"You needn't worry Mr. Gervais. Everything's being taken care of." The sheriff assured him, looking at him with some renewed interest. "Are you ok sir?"

"Dandy. The war wound and all, still hasn't healed." He quickly covered up, both hands tightly gripping the arms of the chair.

"A veteran are we? Did you fight in any major battles?"

"Yes, but I don't really like to talk about it." Artie needed to get off this topic quickly and back to the matter at hand. "You still haven't given me a proper response to my concern."

"I told you, the matter is being taken care of." The sheriff repeated, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

"Heard the government's gotten itself into the matter now, so is it really being taken care of? If not I'm sure I can find myself a less hostile place and relocate my interest there." His back gave another twitch and the pain seemed to spread to his legs. The tension was building as the action of the plot rose.

"Please Mr. Gervais, I'm telling you that matters pertaining to the disappearances have nothing to do with you or your family."

"How can you guarantee me this?" Artie asked through clenched teeth. He needed to get out of here. He needed to get to the hotel room and to a bottle of scotch quick.

The sheriff looked around him and leaned in close, Arte trying as best he could to lean in as well and not scream out in pain. "I guarantee that you and yours will not be harmed." He whispered.

"How?" Artie asked in a hoarse voice. All he needed now was the sheriff to admit that he knew the disappearances were related, and that the town had something to do with it.

"Let's just say those who lead to the disappearances do not hold grudges against those who lead moral lives." He said, leaning back into his own chair. The sheriff seemed content by the cryptic answer he gave Artemus.

"So what you're telling me is, since I'm not running a saloon I don't have to worry about whether my life is in danger or not? " Artie finally blurted out, sick and tired of having to dance around the question he really wanted the answer to. He couldn't take the pain anymore, he needed this interview to be over now.

Luckily for Artie the sheriff was less than competent. "Yes sir." He admitted, not knowing who he had just admitted this fact to. The climax of the play was over, and now it was time for the falling action.

"As much as that thought frightens me Sheriff, I have been assured that my family will not be included in the number of missing persons. Therefore I will call it a day and thank you for your help." Artie said, pushing himself off of the seat. He straightened himself out as best as he could, briefly remarking to himself that he could no longer feel his legs.

The sheriff stood up and reached out in order to shake Mr. Gervais' hand once more. Artie did so, seeing double as the pain in his back reached the blinding state. He stumbled for the door after grabbing his hat and placing it back on top of his head, the sheriff calling out, "Don't be a stranger now, Mr. Gordon". An encore.

Artemus paused and grasped on to the door frame, slowly turning his head. The sheriff stood behind him, hands placed into his pockets causally. "What?" Was all that he could manage to get out of his mouth before his legs buckled from underneath him. He hit the floor hard, his troubled back breaking the fall. He stared at the ceiling, listening to the slow steps growing louder as they came closer. Soon the sheriff was standing over him, completely amused by the whole sight.

"You thought I didn't know who you were, did you?" He grinned. Suddenly the sheriff didn't look as meek as he did before. "Well I did. In fact, we all know who you and your partner Jim are. Even that drunk in the tavern knew who you were. He was just feigning ignorance Mr. Gordon."

Artie couldn't speak. This couldn't be happening, could it? "You had something to do with this." He finally gasped, realization hitting him hard. "What did Buckler poison me with!"

The sheriff laughed. "Mr. Gordon, Buckler just gave you the drinks. It was the bartender who did the actual poisoning. But you are correct in one thing. You were given something to put an end to your inane queries last night while you tried to sneak as much information as you could have out of our resident drunks. But here in Holy Oak, when we conspire, we conspire together." The sheriff was a better actor than Artie could have ever imagined.

Artie could have kicked himself if not for the fact he was now paralyzed. The bartender, the drunks, even Buckler had known from the very moment he and Jim waltzed into the tavern that they were the two government agents. The whole damn town, even the women and children too.

"Jim!" He cried out, suddenly remembering who Jim had spent the night with. "What did you do with Jim? Is he hurt? Did you poison him too?"

"That's classified." The sheriff chuckled, giving a swift kick to Artie's side. He would have screamed, but at this point Artie couldn't feel anything from below his chest. He could barely move his arms and head, the pain dying in his legs and back and moving to other parts of his body. The man seemed to take great pleasure in this fact, laughing as he proceeded to take out a knife from his pocket and knick all the silver buttons off of Artie's coat and vest. "These are nice, I think I'll keep 'em." He grinned, then noticing the silver pocket watch Arte had a habit of carrying. "I'll be taking this too. You won't be needing it anyway, right?"

"Oh god." He whispered. "How, how-" But Artie couldn't even finish the question he had been trying to ask.

"Mr. Gordon, we know everything. So please stop trying to get answers to all these questions you have been trying to extract from us for days now. Whatever you've been meaning to know, that's the answer. We know everything."

The sheriff left Artie's vision and went to do something, leaving him lying on the floor. He could barely keep his eyelids opened now, whatever poison that had been put in his body doing it's work quickly. With a final struggled inhale, Artie felt himself slipping away. The curtain closed. The show was over.

End of Part Two


	3. Part Three and Epilogue

Part Three

At first Artie thought he was still on the Wanderer, the gentle rocking of the train lulling him into a deep, untroubled sleep. However he never remembered his bed being so hard or his back ever being so stiff from napping on one of the plush sofas, and to make matters even more suspicious there was a constant dripping on his forehead from some unknown water source. The Wanderer never had a leaky roof before. The most unnerving fact that completely woke his mind up from it's groggy state was that his entire body was numb, save for the fact that he could barely open up his eyes.

He did so struggling, finally widening his eyes fully only to see nothing but black in front of him. The next thing he needed to do, he added to himself with an inward groan, was sit up. His body was still completely without feeling; he could barely turn his head let alone shift his own weight up. But he did so anyway, taking his time to deliberately stretch what his body could handle to the limit before almost collapsing back to the cold ground. The slope of the ground he was on was rather sharp and he more than likely would have rolled further if not for a rock that his body had probably slammed into. He approximated that it took him at least three quarters of an hour to simply prop himself up; he didn't want to think about how long it would take him to walk again.

It was around the same time that he realized he could feel his toes that he began to experience something…otherworldly. Sounding like it was above him, a crying sound softly made it's way down to where Artie sat. However it didn't remain soft as more voices joined in, their woes echoing throughout the large chamber where he was being kept, bouncing off the solid walls so that they completely surrounded the government agent. They resonated all around him so that Artie felt that they sat beside him crying and screaming into his own ears for help. Some pleaded with an unknown God for something to put them out of their misery, some had undistinguishable murmurs, some cried for a savior, but all of them, their bouts of pain and suffering, heart wrenching coughing and crying nearly drove Artie to tears himself. Yet this wasn't all that Artie played witness to. Below him came such a foul stench that he had to fight off the reflex to gag and retch the whiskey from the previous night. He had recognized the smell before, once one was subjected to something like it one never could forget. It lingered on the soles of shoes and the hands of surgeons; too often it had lingered on himself.

He knew he needed to head in one direction or the other, no longer could he linger in this limbo. Now Artemus had one of two options, the first being to head downhill towards the rotten smell, the other to climb upwards to the desolate sound. By this time he had figured out that he was in some sort of cave and that there was a light source up ahead; the decision after that came pretty easily. Half-blinded, half crippled, Artemus Gordon crawled to what he hoped would be the mouth of the cavern.

The wailing got closer and the sobbing more intense, Artie's hands growing red and raw from dragging himself over the rocks. Around half way the feeling in his legs began to come back and with it came another familiar smell: blood. He paused and began to lift himself to his feet, wondering where the blood happened to be coming from but then continuing on towards the pitiful noise, every step drawing him closer to what he was sure would be a way to get out of this predicament. His footsteps were heavy and deliberate as he was sure he would loose his balance and tumble the rest of the way back down into the deep. Fortunately he made it to the small light source; unfortunately what awaited him there only wanted to make him wish he had still been unconscious.

In front of him was the entrance to the cave, completely caved in except for small pockets of light that streamed through in beams and lit up patches of the floor and walls. The wailing had subsided momentarily as Artie stared down at the souls trapped with him behind the rocks, grabbing on to the stone side in an attempt to both keep himself balanced and catch him from the shock. The scene couldn't have been any more hellish if it had been written by Dante himself; people were strewn across the ground like simple dolls, arms and legs broken, heads bleeding, faces pale and thin from malnutrition. Some huddled together for warmth, their ragged clothes barely staying on them as most were nothing but skin and bones. They looked like corpses at first until one started moving ever so gradually towards Artie, the others looking on with sorry, sallow skin.

"You're alive." It croaked upon reaching Artie. It was a man, probably once good looking and handsome, now reduced to a mere shadow of himself. The corners of his mouth were bleeding, his lips cracked and dry, his hair gone in patches from the top of his white scalp, and his eyes yellow and deep into the sockets.

"W-who-" Artie tried to address the man but was too overwhelmed to do much other than stand there.

"Gregory T. Masterson." The corpse introduced haggardly. "You're a government agent, sent to help us no doubt. We thought you were dead."

Artie couldn't put together a coherent sentence for he was too busy staring at the "us" Mr. Masterson had been talking about. They barely lifted their heads in acknowledgement and the corpse seemed to realize this. "I was the last one to come here before you." He explained. "They can barely talk, let alone get up. It's been days, even weeks for some since we've had anything to eat or drink. I can still get up and walk, but only for a little bit. I'm afraid I must sit down now though."

Artie helped the man sit down in the light without saying a word, he was still trying to rid the shock from his mind.

"You can't be the missing fourteen." Artie finally said, his voice quiet. "There's only seven of you here. Where are the rest?"

He searched the eyes of the seven, some turning away so as not to meet his. The groaning and moaning continued, but was considerably softer since Artie's entrance. It was Masterson who finally answered him with a simple gesture of pointing his bony hand. Artie followed the pale hand with his head, ending up staring down into the abyss from where he came. Masterson didn't explain, a girl who had been in the corner decided to speak for them. She held another person with knotted brown hair in her lap, petting the girl's head absentmindedly as she choked back tears.

"Dead." She whispered. "Five of ours dead. We buried the first two under rocks. Too weak to bury any more. Couldn't take the smell so we, we-" Tears began to stream from her face but she continued, still clutching the girl with the brown hair to her. "We pushed them down the hill."

"Oh god." Artemus muttered, eyes tearing themselves away from the dark and locating the two mounds that held the other bodies.

"Sheriff brought you in, like all the rest. He pushed you in, you were drugged." Masterson continued. "But we're too weak, so weak. Forgive us."

"Forgive you for what?" Artie asked, pleading with the man to continue further. Masterson's eyes finally met Artie's, the orbs filling with sorrowful tears.

"We let you roll down the hill to join the others."

Artie was solemn, not able to meet the eyes of the others. He touched his head and understood why he had smelled blood; it was his own springing from the cuts he had suffered from his roll down further into the cave. He couldn't address that last statement, this sight was too much already. "So they brought you in here and left you here to die." He reiterated to himself.

"Seems that way." Masterson replied, his focus on the rock pile. Artie nodded his head towards the so-called collapse. "That's how they got us all in here. The top isn't covered that well, that's why we still have the light." Masterson explained.

"They pushed us through a hole at the top and let us fall." The girl told him. "Then they cover it up with a bolder so we can't get out."

"Not that we could before. None of us are strong enough to lift that rock off the top. Hell, we couldn't even climb to the top. We're broken and bruised and deathly weak." Masterson said the last part in such a light voice that Artie had to strain to hear him. "We're all bleeding and starving to death."

Artie's eyes raked across Masterson until he stopped at the man's feet; he was barefoot. Artie suddenly noticed that none of them sitting there were wearing shoes, belts, or gloves. The girl seemed to have noticed this sudden confusion and grinned harshly and pathetically. "We ate them Mr. Agent." She sighed. "When you're hungry anything looks good."

"Even human flesh, but we haven't resorted to that yet." Masterson said as he searched Artie's face. "What is your name anyway?" He inquired.

"Artemus Gordon." Artie told him. "I was sent here to investigate the disappearances. My partner James West and I-" Artie gasped suddenly and stood up. "Oh God, Jim!" He cried. "Jim's probably been captured as well!"

"Relax, you're partner's fine. He's not here, right?" Masterson pointed out.

"Something could have happened to him, you don't know for sure." The girl retorted, a resolute answer but delivered in a weak voice.

"Ignore her." He told Artie. "This town doesn't do murder, hence why we're all stuck in this cave. Heaven forbid if they got any real blood on their hands."

"I have so many questions…." Artie murmured to himself. "But first thing's first," he said, lifting his head to the top of the cave, "We need to escape."

"It's impossible Mr. Gordon." The girl said doubtfully. "We've tried everything. No one can do it."

"Impossible you say?" Artie mused, hands on his hips as he surveyed the best route for climbing up the mass of rocks. "I've succeeded in worse odds."

The next hour was practically laborious for Artemus Gordon. He definitely had more strength and capability to scale the collapse than the others, but once he got to the boulder he found that this sudden energy was ready to give out on him. There was no way that he could lift the boulder, it would have taken two men to do that job. Yet Artie was never without tool kit up his sleeve and as it so happened the sheriff and his lackeys hadn't confiscated it when they were searching for weapons. So he pulled out his small pick, grabbed a rock beside him, settled himself on top of the pile, and began to chisel away at the boulder.

"Can I help you Mr. Gordon?" Masterson had called up to Artie.

"I want everyone to move away from the space underneath." Artie told him. The corpse-like man below nodded and began to shuffle as best he could the women and one other man away from the danger zone. Unfortunately, Artie later mused, he could have waited a few hours before actually warning the people below. The process was tedious and the make-shift chisel worked only so well which meant Artie was pretty much stuck up at the top of the collapse breaking small pieces off of the rock until the light beams began to fade into night.

Masterson, as Artie soon found out, had been acting as the events organizer for the saloon. The rest of the saloon workers ran for their lives, Masterson being the last one condemned to die by the town before Gordon had been thrown into the mix. He had gone to the local post office and typed the very same telegraph that Washington DC had received before the sheriff had caught him and put him down there with the others, catching wind of the forbidden telegraph and therefore knowing of the two government agents before they had even arrived. Artie also learned an extremely vital piece of information from Masterson, something that destroyed every hypothesis Jim and himself had concocted.

"What do you mean there's no gold vein?"

"You heard me. It was all just a big hoax." Masterson sighed. He had climbed up halfway and sat below Artie, watching the dark haired man work with a sense of awe on his face.

"Why would a town make up a story about a gold vein?" Artie wondered. He lowered his arms and stretched; his neck was beginning to grow stiff from looking up for so long.

"I'm sure you've heard of the three-"

"Yes, yes. The three families. The Shaws, the Tenny's, and the Timony's. I hear they rule this town." Artemus said impatiently. After stretching out his arms for a good while he picked up his tools and began to work on the rock again, making the most of what little light he had left. He wasn't sure if he would be able to continue chiseling all tomorrow as well, especially taking into the fact that he was bleeding from the head and hadn't eaten anything all day.

"They do more than rule this town; they own this town. They're filled with power hungry people; they became bored with the small town life. So they began to place ads in newspapers and in city journals for families to come out to the west to Holy Oak."

"But I'm guessing that didn't work out so well for them." Artie supposed.

"And you'd be right Mr. Gordon." Masterson congratulated him. He smiled which silently disturbed Artie; he looked like a grinning skull.

"Let me tell you what I think and then tell me if I'm right." Artie said. "The three families, tired of the same old boring town, decide to spice things up by taking in new people. Unfortunately no one wants to move out to a small practically no-name place, so the town makes up a ploy that gold has been discovered on the outskirts. However the they didn't plan on having so many 'undesirables' move into the neighborhood and began to pick them off one by one as a warning to outsiders."

"Mostly correct." Masterson said. "But we're not the only ones who were thrown down here."

Artie paused for a minute to think before he spoke. "Prospectors too?"

"Mmhm." Masterson replied. "Only they didn't have any family to report them missing. They went looking for the gold and were led here."

"And then someone knocked them out and threw them down the hole."

"Right Mr. Gordon." Masterson nodded. "We took care of them but they all died anyway. We only tried to bury our own, but even that got so difficult for us that we didn't even bother. But there's still something that you missed."

"Yeah? And what's that?" Artie asked, still working away on the rock.

"They didn't expect a person like you Mr. Gordon." The girl added, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips.

The light had been gone for a few hours now, Artie only having climbed back down after he accidentally hit his thumb with the rock and not the pick. He sat next to Masterson and was offered a small sip of water that had been collecting in a pool from the dripping ceiling. Exhausted and hungry, he gratefully took the sip of water from a metal belt buckle and settled himself against the craggy wall in order to wait for the sunlight. Although he wasn't the most comfortable he'd ever been before, Artie managed to fall asleep pretty quickly.

He was woken up by the sound of someone screaming in the morning light. It was the girl who had been talking with him letting out the ear piercing screech, her hysterics echoing through the cave just the same as the cries for help had before. Artie and Masterson stood and went to see what was the matter: the brunette that she had been caring for in her arms was dead.

"Another one." Masterson mumbled, closing the thin skin of his eyelids in remorse. Artie checked the brunette's pulse and upon finding none gently shut the girl's eyelids. "Can you?" Masterson asked Artemus, which he took to mean "Can you roll her down with the others?"

"No." Artie said sternly, lifting up the corpse. She was so light and malnourished that Artie almost thought he was carrying a rag doll. He placed her on a secluded patch of ground carefully, handling her like she was still alive, and smoothed out her tangled mop of brown hair. "No more discarding the bodies." He said, standing up and heading towards his tools. "I'm getting you out of here today."

And with that said Artie climbed back on top of the rocks and continued his chiseling, determined to break that damned boulder no matter what.

Hours later and there was a notable difference in the size of the rock. Artie was pretty sure that he could lift it now, if only there was some way to make sure that Jim was all right. He could get the remaining six out after he headed into town and found the Wanderer, but the steps in between were a little hazy for him. He knew the chain of command within this town, unfortunately it seemed like everybody worked under the three mysterious families. Yet he knew who his target was for the time being; he wanted to make the sheriff pay for the grievances and the deaths caused.

He wasn't a fan of violence, but today, under these circumstances, he wouldn't mind beating the sheriff into a bloody stump of a man.

The mere thought alone had somehow increased Artie's work effort, he could see the cracks in the stone much more clearly now. "Everyone get back!" He called down to the starved whores and managers.

Tossing down the pick and rock he stepped underneath the boulder and began to push, feeling the full weight of the stone being thrown against his back. The blood throbbed in his ears and his heart pounded but Artie pressed on, the friction of the former boulder and it's restraining walls causing him to cry out. He felt the rock start to slip from his grasp and pushed even harder on it; there was no way he was going to give up now. Finally he felt the rock tip on to the side of the collapse and saw it disappear over the side of the hole, the unobstructed sunlight pouring in from the rather large opening.

"He did it!" The girl yelled with joy. "He's our savior!" Small shouts of happiness and tears of joy were shed below him as Artie began to climb out, tumbling over the side as the fresh air hit his grateful lungs. He paused there for a moment and then stuck his head back into the hole. "Masterson!" He called out.

"Yes Mr. Gordon?" Came the obviously celebratory voice of the man below.

"I'll be back within an hour. You can trust me on that!" Artemus promised. He didn't like the idea of leaving those poor people down there, but he couldn't get them all out alone.

There was a pause, some silence followed before anyone spoke. "Mr. Gordon, we do trust you. Now go!" Masterson shouted up to him.

Artie needed no further instruction; he got to his feet and ran as fast as he could towards town. There had been a carved out path the sheriff and his men had used which brought him right to the station, and there resting at the platform was the wondrous sight of the Wanderer. He didn't even bother to slow his pace as he approached the train, Artie kept at full sprint until he finally reached the caboose. Pulling open the door with such fierce force, he entered the train and began to search for his partner.

"Jim! Jim!" He called out. It had been hard to get use to so much light; even at that moment his eyes were still settling themselves. "Jim; God, please answer me!" He said, a little more desperate edge to his voice.

Suddenly from behind he heard a door open and out stepped James West, newly shaven with a towel around his neck. "Artie?" He asked, a bit surprised by this sudden appearance from his friend. Relief at finding Jim unharmed swelled through his body and the two days of being drugged, starved, tortured, and bloodied finally took their toll as he fell to his knees.

"Artie!" Jim yelled, driving in order to catch his friend before he hit the ground. "Artie, good God what happened to you?" He asked in a worry filled voice. Jim's hand went to the towel around his neck which was then placed gently on his friend's head wound.

"Didn't you notice I was gone?" Artie asked, more than a little surprised by his friend.

"I did but the whole town was telling me that they saw you leave." Jim explained, lifting his heavier partner on to one of the sofas.

"You didn't believe them, did you?" Artie asked, giving Jim the best 'are you kidding me' look he could muster at the moment.

"Of course not." Jim replied, running over to a pitcher of water. He poured the water into a bowl and took the tablecloth right off of the table, dipping it in the liquid and running back over to Artemus. "I had them believe I did. In the mean time I went looking for you everywhere. I knew you wouldn't just leave, that's not like you."

"Appreciate you taking your time out to shave for me." Artie grinned, his usually self right back into action.

"Don't. I really was troubled." Jim warned, his stern face completely overpowered by his worried countenance. "Artie," Jim asked, kneeling over his friend while he administered some much needed medical attention, "What happened? Did the sheriff do this to you?"

Artie nodded and pushed away Jim's hand as he tried to sit up, Jim lowering him back down. "Dammit, just sit still! You do this to me all the time." Jim cried, but Artie couldn't just lie about and wait for another person to die down in that cave. "I'll explain what happened on the way." Artie informed him, struggling out of Jim's grasp.

"On the way where?" Jim inquired, still on his haunches overlooking the sofa.

Artie carefully walked over towards the bowl of water and stuck his head in it, taking a long drink. When he pulled his face out and wiped it on the towel that had been on his head he responded, "Grab some rope and the horses and you'll see."

End of Part Three

Epilogue

The story ended much like it had begun. The townspeople continued to give them weird looks, but only because an entire US cavalry unit had been called in to put a stop to the sheriff and the other heads of town. With the controversy exposed and the story on the lips of every American the three families went belly-up and the town was pretty much left to it's own devices. Artie, while he didn't exactly get to 'bloody up' the sheriff, was more than happy to see him get transported to the nearest fort for a trial and more than likely a death sentence. The six surviving people were rescued from the 'gold source' and promised a large portion of the town for their ill-treatment, Artemus insisting that Jim and himself stay in town to make sure they all were nursed back to good health.

"Artie, did you file that report yet?" Jim asked. It had been more than three weeks since the conspiracy had been uncovered, the Wanderer still on track at the little town of Holy Oak. By now the town was bustling again, only this time with reporters from the east and more government workers than the sheriff could have possibly imagined.

"Yes, just sent it." Artie called back to him. Once again he stood in front of a mirror trying to straighten out his blue cravat. Once he finished his slipped on his jacket and made his way towards Jim, accepting the glass of bourbon his partner had poured him.

"So we'll be heading out after this, right?" Jim wondered, downing the bourbon in one shot.

Artie nodded and pretended to drink the alcohol, but truly he wasn't in the mood for it and later dumped out the rest outside the train. "Come on." Artemus called, "I don't want to be late."

The duo walked out of the Wanderer and towards the gathering crowd in the local cemetery, Jim grabbing Artie's shoulder just before they got to the wooden gates. "God Artie, you spent all that time worrying over your cravat and it's still crooked." Jim muttered, fussing around with his friend's tie. Artie merely smiled and let Jim worry over him; it was a nice change of pace.

When the cravat was fixed Jim grabbed Artie by the shoulders and stared at him, taking a long look at the small white bandage still visible under his hat and then at the various cuts and bruises that adorned his companion. "You know," He muttered, voice wavering. Instead of continuing on with the sentence he pulled Artie into a tight embrace, rubbing his friend on the back as Jim managed to express his silent gratitude to the unknown force that kept Artie away from harm.

"I know." Artie said as they broke the embrace. "I know."

They continued on towards the funeral in silence, standing around the coffin across from Masterson himself, looking much more presentable with shoes on his feet and a hat covering his balding head. It was a quiet and solemn memorial and when it was over flowers were thrown on the simple wooden tomb. The two paid their respects, Artie lingering a little longer over the grave of the brown-headed girl, and then started walking back towards the train.

Someone grabbed his arm gently and urged him to stop. When Artemus turned he was standing with the girl from the cave, still pale and gaunt but alive and well nonetheless. She was smiling up at him. "Mr. Gordon." She said.

"Oh, hello." He smiled, overjoyed to see her beautiful face cleaned up and rosy in the light.

"I'm going back to New York." She told him. "I've given up this saloon business. Gregory-uh, I mean, Mr. Masterson and I are opening up a restaurant."

"That's wonderful." He replied. "I'm sure you two will be very happy."

"We owe it all to you, you know." She said with a blush. She grabbed his arm and pulled Artie down close enough in order to give him a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you, my savior." She whispered into his ear. With a giggle she let him go and went to join Masterson, the two waving at Jim and himself as they resumed their journey to the train.

"Well," Jim muttered as they pulled out of the Holy Oak train station, "Where to next?"

The End


End file.

Wild Wild West